


Let Go [pxp ficathon]

by megyal



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-13
Updated: 2006-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-27 04:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal





	Let Go [pxp ficathon]

There is always a stunned questioning silence right after a power outage, as if the world can't fucking _believe_ it. T _he fuck are we paying those bills for? What the hell is the government up to? Is this for real? Its been five seconds...is it not coming back?_

 _Where did I put the candles, again?_

Pete groaned low, putting aside his book and allowed the puppy to slide off his lap; he promptly stumbled over it as he got up out of bed. The little dog gave an aggrieved yelp, and Pete could hear it scampering off into the unyielding dark, out of his bedroom towards the safety of the laundry.

"Sorry, sorry," he muttered after it, walking blindly out the doorway. He head the soft shuffling footstep maybe a split-second too late and he bumped into Patrick coming out of the guest room. "Shit, _sorry_." He put his hand out and grabbed onto Patrick's bicep, solid and still cool from the now-defunct air-conditioning, and he gripped onto it a little bit tighter. Patrick didn't squirm, and Pete felt his fingers tug into one of the belt-loops in his jeans. Pete took half-a-step forward, and Patrick stopped pulling. So Pete stopped.

"Never mind." Patrick's voice was low and strangely quiet, as if he was getting ready to tell Pete something extremely sad, maybe something tragic to do with the puppy, and Pete felt an irrational sliver of panic. "Just. Find the candles, Pete."

Pete found himself not wanting to move his hand, and he was disappointed to feel Patrick's fingers sliding under his and prying his hand off. He stood motionless in the corridor, and felt Patrick's still presence near him, fingers slowly releasing the belt-loop, and then there was a slight exhale. Patrick brushed past him, and Pete reached out, grasping again onto him, this time the sleeve of his t-shirt.

"Let go, Pete," Patrick said. "I can't see a thing, so let go."

Pete let his fingers relax, and the fabric of Patrick's shirt slipped over and out of them. He still stood in the corridor, listening to Patrick open the drawers in the kitchen, and thought about the last time Patrick had told him to let go.

*

"What the?" Patrick had asked, a little stiffly, as Pete kissed him on the mouth and he pulled away, frowning. "Don't. You keep doing that, but _don't._ "

"Six years, Patrick," Pete tried to explain, and Patrick turned away, continuing to pick up the debris of Pete's apartment-warming party. "You and I have been friends for six _years_ , and you still don't know how I feel?" He grasped Patrick's upper arm, almost making him spill the cups he had taken up from the cofee-table. Patrick's skin shimmered beneath his fingers and he breathed shallowly as Patrick's movements halted.

"I _don't_ know," Patrick replied, starting to twist a little in Pete's grasp. "Nowadays, I feel I _never_ know with you, so let go."

Pete. Let go.

*

There was a harsh scratch, and light flared in Patrick's hands. Pete could feel the room getting stuffy, and he padded over to the large windows, unlocking them and pushing them open. The air was still and Pete tried to inhale its sullen weight. He craned his head up, taking note of the cloudy night sky as he fanned himself with an open palm. Getting hot.

"I told you the first thing you should get when you moved here was a back-up generator," Patrick said, still in that low voice. It was making Pete feel a little worried, like he was missing an important clause in some contract, or something. He turned his head and watched as Patrick lit another candle. He started to hum something, and Pete couldn't quite hear what it was. Patrick picked the candles, now singing softly, his voice brushing against the two circles of radiance he held in each hand, and came towards Pete. Pete only managed to figure out that he was singing that Joy Division songas he gave one of the candle-stands to Pete and walked off.

"It's getting hot in here," Pete informed his back, and the next line of that Nelly song popped into his head unwarranted. _So take off all your clothes_.

"Yet theres still this appeal, that we've kept through our lives," Patrick sang in response, confusing Pete's brain a little, Nelly and Joy Division, what the fuck; and he watched as the candle disappeared into the guest bedroom. He could still hear his voice though, drifting out of the opened doorway accompanied by the soft yellow candlelight filtering into the corridor, hushed and yet so powerful. " _Love, love will tear us apart again._ "

Pete winced as some of the melted wax slipped off the stand and unto his wrist.

*

Pete sat shirtless in bed and tried not to exist as he sweat. He could have sworn that the weathermen had said that heat-wave would have been over by now, but when you live in air-conditioning, then everything is cool beans. Literally. He had a folded newspaper in his hand, fanning languidly as he attempted to hover over the sheets instead of sweltering within them. All his windows were wide open and it was simply no help at all. The rain simply was refusing to break. A dog gave its night-howl the next street over, and the puppy made a short brave bark from underneath his bed. The flame of the candle on the bedside table shook with every flash of the newspaper in his hand, and Pete blinked slowly, trying to control the trickle of sweat running into his eyes.

He heard Patrick moving around, and saw him pass his door, candle held aloft. There was a series of thumping and cracking sounds in the kitchen, and Patrick passed again, now carrying a plastic container. He heard the water in the bathroom running, and figured that as soon Patrick was finished he would go and take a shower as well. Hopefully the water-pressure would be high enough. Patrick started to hum bits of that same song, and Pete saw him appear at his doorway and stand there, now silent, as if he was a stranger waiting to be invited in.

"C'mere," Pete invited softly, patting the bed beside him. "I'll fan you, too." Patrick shook his head.

"No. You come here. And don't forget to blow out your candle."

*

Pete looked away into the bathroom mirror as Patrick stripped to his boxers and stepped one foot into the tub, which was nearly full. On top of the water floated an armada of ice-cubes that had been languishing in the deadened freezer, and the candle on the top of the toilet-tank sparked off little rays in each of them. Patrick folded up the shower-curtain on the rod and went in fully, letting out a soft sigh as he sank into the water. Pete struggled out of his jeans and climbed gingerly into the other end, where the spout and handles were. Patrick shifted and Pete felt his legs settle atop his own thighs, his toes pressing into Pete's ribs. Patrick leaned back a little and rested his head on the back-curve of the tub, pushing aside the bottles of shampoo on the tiled ledge, and fixed Pete with a steady look.

"Better. Right?" He patted the top of the water and then stretched his arms out on the edges of the tub. Pete, unable to help himself, reached out and laced the fingers of one hand into Patrick's. He waited for the _let go_.

Patrick looked at him carefully and said nothing. His fingers clenched around Pete's, and Pete felt his stomach and chest clutch in response. Patrick's eyes were a strange tawny colour in the dim candlelight, tinged with gold around the edges. They were opened wide and unblinking, and Pete felt the cool of the water around his chest compete fiercely with the heat around his head.

"What is it that you _want_?" Patrick asked suddenly, and it ocurred to Pete that the reason that maybe Patrick was speaking so low all this while was because at any higher volume, his voice might tremble. Pete closed his eyes, and Patrick's hand started to slip out from his. Pete tightened his grip and opened back his eyes.

"What I've wanted all this while," he said softly and Patrick's eyes grew hard.

"I can't tell what that is. I can't tell _who_ that is. Not here in this city, you know?"

"I'm sorry about that," Pete said, a little desperately, holding on to Patrick's hand, and holding onto the hope that he still wasn't saying _let go._ " I really am."

"I know." And then Patrick's hand was tugging his forward, and his body flowed with the pull in his arm. There was a lot of sloshing about until he was sitting in between Patrick's legs, his back against Patrick's chest, and he was breathless as he slid down and rested his head against Patrick's collarbone. Patrick cupped some water and poured it over Pete's head, and Pete shivered a bit, turning a little and pressing his cheek flat against Patrick's chest. Patrick put his lips briefly against Pete's damp hair and then sang low again, his breath ghosting against Pete's scalp.

" _Is it something so good, just cant function no more? When love, love will tear us apart again_."

Pete inhaled shakily. The thunder threatened low and heavy outside and he suddenly heard the soft hum of the fridge coming back to life, a harsh beep as the microwave turned on. The power was back, he could see the lamp on in his room, and yet they sat there in the candlelit water as Patrick hummed to him.

There was a blinding flash of lightning, an angry tumble of thunder, and the rain crashed down without any preamble. He felt Patrick shoving urgently at his back and he got up as quickly as he dared, grabbing a towel and dripping water all over the place as he rushed to close the windows. He went back to the bedrooms and saw the guest room door close softly. He moved to it, walking dream-like, grasped the handle and stopped.

"Pete," he heard Patrick say clearly from behind the door. "Let go."

Pete turned and went to his bedroom, closing the door gently and turning on the cool air.


End file.
